Green frogs

Some memories hang on. This one does.  

I was in West Bend, Wisconsin, at a popular coffee spot maybe 40 years ago. A dad was there with two kids, around five and seven years old. He just sat there, sipping his coffee and staring at the wall. His two kids were going nuts, bouncing around, shouting and bugging the customers. How bad was that?

I was about ready to go over and ask him to calm his kids down, but an older woman beat me to it. She was blunt, like a schoolmarm. “Sir, your children are misbehaving and bothering the customers and also me.”

The young father apologized but did nothing. I went over and sat next to him. In a soft voice, he said, “I don’t know what to do. Their mom died two nights ago in a car accident, and I am totally lost.”

The young boy jumped on my lap and, nose to nose with me, shouted, “I love green frogs!”

In tears, I stood up and bellowed so all of West Bend could hear. ”I Iove green frogs too!”

I said nothing more, put my hand on the father’s knee, and walked out of the coffee shop.

The boy would now be in his mid-40s, probably a dad of his own kids.

I hope he still loves green frogs.

Lesson learned: Never think you know the insides of another human being. Maybe a hand on a knee is the best you can do.